


The Cost

by SharkGirlNirea



Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [5]
Category: Criminal Case (Video Game), Criminal Case: Mysteries of the Past
Genre: (for certain chapters), (it's up to you to decide if he redeemed himself or not), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Italian Mafia/Mob, Mysteries of the Past Case #27: Little Murder on the Prairie, Mysteries of the Past Case #28: 3:10 to Death, Mysteries of the Past Case #29: Blood Bath, Mysteries of the Past District 5: Coyote Gorge, Past Character Death, Redemption Attempt, Slight Catholic themes, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirlNirea/pseuds/SharkGirlNirea
Summary: When the Italian mob gives you an order, you follow it. It isn't too difficult to understand. Follow the mob's orders, and you'll be fine.Or at least, that's what Vinnie thought.
Relationships: Giulietta Capecchi & Vinnie Costa, Isaac Bontemps & Player Character, Vinnie Costa & Player Character, Vinnie Costa & Rose Zhao
Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975516
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

If the Italian mob gave you an order, you followed it. And when you followed it, you did so quickly, and treated members of the mob with respect.

It wasn’t difficult to understand. And yet, watching Benjamin Galls aim a shotgun at Giulietta Capecchi, Vinnie decided the man was doing the opposite.

Years of being in contact with the Capecchis had taught Vinnie quite a bit about Giulietta. She was sheltered from her father’s business, naïve, and spoiled. Therefore, she had little experience being near someone who wished her harm, which was why, rather than running from Benjamin, she insisted on pleading her case.

“Mr. Galls, I only want to lay my sister to rest,” Giulietta said, clutching the urn to her chest, forcing her gaze to remain on Benjamin’s face as opposed to his shotgun. “Lucrezia loved your farm more than anywhere else; she loved riding your horses--”

“My condolences about Lucrezia,” Benjamin said coldly. “But Italians are not allowed on my property.”

“Mr. Galls, I just want to scatter her ashes around your home; I’m not here to harass you!”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?!” Benjamin shouted. “I know who your father is, Miss Capecchi! I _know_ what he wants me to do; you’re old enough to understand what his business demands. You’re old enough to take part in his crimes--”

“Mr. Galls, I am nothing like my fath--”

The silence in the sluggish atmosphere of the morning air was ripped apart by a sound like thunder emanating from Benjamin’s shotgun. A moment later, several spines and an arm from a cactus behind and to the left of Giulietta were blown off.

“I will give you ten seconds, Miss Capecchi,” Benjamin said flatly. “Ten. Nine.”

Giulietta’s lip trembled as she continued to stare at Benjamin, her grip on the urn slack.

“Eight. Seven. Six.”

Benjamin aimed the shotgun at Giulietta’s forehead, and something about seeing the gun aimed directly at her beat some sense back into her. She stumbled backwards, turned, and sprinted across the uneven dirt back to the safety of the town. Two more warning shots tore through the air before Benjamin retreated into his home and slammed his door shut.

Vinnie stepped from behind the tree where he’d witnessed Giulietta and Benjamin’s exchange, confining his laughter to a snort. Giulietta had been struck with quite a harsh reality. People associated with Vittorio were disliked and distrusted. Even better, it was now clear Benjamin was becoming increasingly on-edge because of the Italians. Because of Vinnie.

Vinnie rapped on Bejamin’s front door.

Benjamin partially opened the door, glaring at Vinnie and still gripping his shotgun. “What do you want?”

“Buongiorno, neighbor,” Vinnie said. “Oi! There is no need to point that at me. I just wanted to ask if you got my message?”

“The message where you threatened my life if I stayed on my property?” Benjamin said scathingly.

“That’s the one. When are you going to comply with us Italians, signore? People who disregard Vittorio often end up--”

“Shut up!” Benjamin shouted, kicking open the door and shoving the shotgun’s muzzle against Vinnie’s chest. “I’ll chase all you Italians off my justly-owned land before I comply with your leader, Costa! Now, get off my property!”

“Calmati, Benjamin!” Vinnie said, holding up his hands in surrender and backing away. “I’m going….no need to get aggressive….”

Benjamin watched Vinnie walk back several more steps, still clenching his shotgun with white knuckles. “Tell your leader I have no interest in leaving my home.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Benjamin?”

Benjamin raised his gun, pointing it at Vinnie’s head.

“Calm down, Benjamin, I’m going!” Vinnie said, walking away from the door. 

As he climbed over the farm’s fence and walked back towards town, Vinnie scoffed to himself. ‘Tell your leader I have no interest in leaving my home.’ Who did Benjamin think he was threatening?

一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一

When Vinnie entered the town, he encountered two people he rather disliked.

Giulietta and Marvin Ferrari, one of Vittorio’s security guards, were standing and arguing near the barbershop’s porch. Giulietta, Vinnie noticed, no longer had her sister’s urn, and was gesturing angrily at Marvin.

“Giulietta,” Marvin said, “if someone caused you to lose Lucrezia’s urn, you ought to involve your father…. Have him resolve the issue….”

“I can resolve my own issues!” Giulietta said, her voice an odd mix between a whisper and a shout. “No one realizes it, certainly not you, but I’m not weak and helpless--”

Vinnie stared at the altercation for a moment too long. Marvin was almost always patrolling around the hacienda. Seeing him both in town and arguing with Giulietta was a rare sight. Vinnie ultimately decided, however, he had no desire to speak with either of them. Unfortunately, before he could resume walking, both Giulietta and Marvin took notice of him.

“Oh, Costa,” Marvin said, eyeing Vinnie as if Marvin was a sadistic judge who’d just sentenced Vinnie to death. “This is convenient. Vittorio sent me to find you. He needs to talk to you.”

一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一

A few minutes later, Vinnie found himself awkwardly clinging to Marvin as they rode on horseback to Vittorio’s hacienda. The hacienda was several miles away from any form of civilization, and Vittorio was rather smug that no police officer, try as they might, had ever found it.

Vinnie was struggling to control his now-accelerated breathing. His position on the horse’s back was especially uncomfortable, and although Vinnie had swallowed several times in the past few minutes, his mouth was still dry.

Being summoned to Vittorio was rarely a good thing, and Vinnie had a fairly good idea why he was being summoned.

After around forty-five minutes of riding through the desert, they arrived at the Capecchi’s hacienda. The hacienda was the only thing of worth within miles. It would be a pleasant place to live. The fountain and cactus gardens were especially well-kept, but at the moment, their beauty was difficult to appreciate.

When Marvin and Vinnie entered the living room, Vittorio looked up from a pile of papers he was reading.

“Ah, Marvin, thank you!” Vittorio said with his usual wide smile. “I knew you’d find Vinnie in a timely fashion-- sit, Vinnie.”

Vinnie sat on the edge of an ottoman.

“I will make this brief, as Marvin has other duties other than escorting you around Coyote Gorge,” Vittorio said. “Vinnie, I seem to recall giving you a specific task last week. Do you remember what it was?”

“Yes,” Vinnie said, struggling to keep his voice light, but neither shrill nor disrespectful. “You told me to force Benjamin Galls and his daughter off their property.”

“That is correct,” Vittorio said, still smiling. “Why are they still living there?”

“I-- he’s more stubborn than I thought,” Vinnie stammered, acutely aware of his loud, quick heartbeat. “I’ve been sending him threats-- I told him what would happen to him if he didn’t leave his home--”

“Clearly, your efforts have been lackluster,” Vittorio said, and Vinnie wished he would stop smiling. “I’d like to have him out of his home in two days. Do whatever it takes to get him off his land. He has a daughter. Use your imagination. Perhaps if you--”

“No, I’ll convince him to leave,” Vinnie said, fighting the urge to wipe sweat off his face. _And no, I’m not going to hurt a thirteen-year-old girl._ “I’ll--he’ll be out of his land by tomorrow.”

“Excellent!” Vittorio said. “Because if not…. Marvin?”

Marvin, who had been standing silently off to the side, approached Vinnie, seized his collar, and dragged him off the ottoman and onto the wooden floor. A moment later, Marvin’s pistol was in his hand, pressed against Vinnie’s forehead.

“Did you know, Costa,” Marvin said, crouching in front of Vinnie, “that you weren’t the first man assigned to this job?”

Vinnie wanted to respond, but the cold steel of Marvin’s pistol was rendering him mute. There was a difference between Marvin and Benjamin. When Benjamin had pressed his shotgun against Vinnie’s chest, he had radiated hatred and fury, yes, but in Marvin’s eyes, there was pure sadism, and Vinnie knew Marvin could devise a thousand creative ways to kill him.

“Do you know what happened to him?” Vittorio asked, standing up next to Marvin. “He was a coward…. Too intimidated by Galls. I trust you want to avoid the same route as him, Vinnie?”

Vinnie forced his shoulders to relax and looked at Vittorio, who had one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Yes, I’ll avoid the same route as him.”

“See to it, Vinnie. Now, get off my floor. Marvin will ride you back to town.”

一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一

Vinnie was relieved to be greeted by Maximinus when he arrived back home.

“Hi, boy,” Vinnie murmured, petting Maximinus’ head. “Ah, are you out of water?”

After feeding Maximinus and refilling his water bowl, Vinnie sat on the edge of his bed. Well, it wasn’t just his bed-- it had also belonged to his father. Giovanni had bought the small residence a few months after he and Vinnie had arrived in Concordia. Vittorio had greeted Giovanni and other male Italians on the docks, offering them money, food, and shelter in exchange for agreeing to be on-hand for Vittorio. And with that, Giovanni had joined Vittorio’s mob.

Vinnie absentmindedly pet Maximinus’ head. The collie was an embodiment of Vinnie’s relationship with the Capecchis. They had all liked Giovanni, so when he was killed, they’d agreed to help thirteen-year-old Vinnie get by. They’d even sent him gifts on Christmas, like Maximinus, who he had received five years ago. Franca had almost treated him as a son, due to her high opinion of Giovanni. Vittorio treated Vinnie the way he did to have a replacement for Giovanni. Even if Vittorio had never vocalized the unspoken agreement between the Capecchis and Vinnie, it clearly existed. “My family will provide you with help if you need it, but you will take your father’s place in the mob when you’re older.” As Vinnie had grown more independent, he’d received less help from the Capecchis, but the agreement had continued.

Vinnie only lived in Coyote Gorge for two thirds of the year. He often wandered around Concordia with Maximinus, although they avoided the economic and political districts more or less controlled by the Rochester family. Vinnie would do this and that, get into trouble, sometimes end up with money he saved for his mother and sister in Italy. Normally, around this time of the year, he’d be preparing to wander into Crimson Banks. But now, with Vittorio’s railroad plans in progress, no one in the mob was leaving Coyote Gorge for a long while.

Vinnie ran his hand through his hair. Benjamin was stubborn, self-righteous, and stupidly brave. He clearly thought he could fight off every Italian in Concordia.

But Vinnie hadn’t exhausted all his options. He’d only _sent_ Benjamin threats.

Tomorrow morning, Vinnie would see how well Benjamin responded to physical force.

一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一一

“Are you ready to finally get that pain off his land?” Vinnie asked Maximinus as they walked towards the Galls’ farm.

Maximinus did not reply, but instead trotted obediently next to Vinnie as Vinnie chewed on the last of his wheat.

As Vinnie approached the farmhouse, he noticed two things. One, the stable where Benjamin’s daughter kept her horse was empty. Vinnie supposed that for the best-- she was likely riding her horse elsewhere, and a little girl didn’t need to see Vinnie rough up her father.

Two, a black horse Vinnie didn’t recognize was tethered to the Galls’ fence from the inside of the front yard, although its owner was nowhere in sight.

But, Benjamin, who was working in his garden, was in sight.

Vinnie adjusted his cowboy hat and shouted, “Benjamin!”

The man jumped. Vinnie climbed over the fence and opened the gate for Maximinus.

“What do you want, Costa?” Benjamin said standing up, his eyes flickering towards his house. He didn’t have his shotgun outside with him. He probably wished he did.

“See, Benjamin,” Vinnie said, cracking his knuckles. “It’s my job to get you off your land, but you’re still here. Clearly, I have to convince you to leave with more than threats.”

And Vinnie drew back his fist and slammed it into the side of Benjamin’s face.

Benjamin gasped, stumbling to the side, cradling his cheek. Maintaining eye contact with Benjamin, Vinnie spat in his face.

“The Italians need your land, Benjamin. Go inside and pack, or--”

Benjamin’s fist shot out, striking Vinnie’s jaw.

Vinnie’s pulse surged as new strength flooded through him. What did the idiot not understand about the importance of listening to Vittorio?

Vinnie tackled Benjamin, propelling him backwards. Benjamin tripped on his toolbox, and he and Vinnie fell on top of it. Benjamin shoved Vinnie off of him, and Vinnie rolled to the side, avoiding a kick aimed at his stomach. Vinnie hadn’t been in a fight for a couple months, and Benjamin was stronger than he’d expected.

Maximinus barked in excitement at Vinnie and Benjamin, running between them and attempting to leap on Vinnie.

“No, Max,” Vinnie said, pushing his dog aside. “Don’t--”

Taking advantage of Vinnie’s lapse in attention, Benjamin kicked Vinnie’s stomach.

Vinnie gasped. Forcing himself to inhale was painful, and he moaned, struggling to breath. He reached out for the nearest thing to use to defend himself. His fingers grasped something-- a pitchfork-- and he thrust it towards Benjamin.

“I’m warning you, Galls!” Vinnie gasped. “Don’t--”

When Vinnie picked up the pitchfork, Benjamin was preparing to lunge at him.

He expected Benjamin to stop his assault when Vinnie brandished the weapon.

Instead, Galls continued charging towards Vinnie and onto the pitchfork’s spikes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vinnie's just killed a man, even if it was an accident.  
> Even with guilt and horror ripping him apart inside, he still tries to cover up his tracks.  
> But doing so is difficult when the Flying Squad's detectives begin investigating Benjamin's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains mentions of vomiting. It's nothing detailed or overly disgusting, but if you've got a sensitive stomach, don't read while you're eating.  
> But if you have a sensitive stomach, why are you playing murder mystery games?

Vinnie staggered backwards as Benjamin’s weight fell onto the pitchfork. Vinnie stumbled into the farm’s water trough and, as Benjamin slumped forward, Vinnie stared into his eyes.

But Benjamin didn’t return Vinnie’s gaze, because his eyes were half-open, glassy, unfocused, and unseeing.

A trickle of blood was running from Benjamin’s mouth, and blood stained his vest around the area where the pitchfork was now embedded in him.

With some difficulty, Vinnie yanked the pitchfork out of Benjamin’s chest, and Benjamin fell onto Vinnie.

“Benjamin?” Vinnie said in a strangled whisper. “I didn’t mean-- it was--”

Benjamin remained unresponsive, limp, nothing like he had been a minute prior.

“No,” Vinnie whispered, shoving Benjamin off him and letting his body fall against the water trough. There wasn’t an excessive amount of Benjamin's blood on the pitchfork, but it was obvious that he--

Vinnie had just-- 

“No,” Vinnie mumbled. “No. No, no, no. Dio mio, _what have I done?!”_

Maximinus, blissfully unaware of the horror palpable on his owner’s face, put his paws on Benjamin’s back, sniffing the blood around his puncture wounds. Some of Benjamin’s blood smudged onto Maximinus’ collar.

“Maximinus, no!” Vinnie shouted, yanking his dog away from Benjamin. Vinnie shoved his hat up out of his eyes to get a closer look at Maximinus. His collar was stained. Vinnie tried to remove the collar, but his hands were shaking and sweating as they slipped and fumbled with the clasp. After five tries, Vinnie unfastened the collar and threw it into the toolbox.

Vinnie regretted drinking milk earlier in the morning. Despite his dizziness and weakness, he forced himself to look at everything around the water trough-- what could be traced back to him?

Benjamin’s vest. Considering Vinnie had been hitting it a couple minutes prior--

How had everything gone so wrong? Benjamin was supposed to have been preparing to leave right now, not lying dead in his front yard--

Removing Benjamin’s vest was harder than removing Maximinus’ collar. When Vinnie pulled it off Benjamin, he held it away from himself as if it was a rabid animal. He couldn’t take it with him; where could he hide it?

His gaze fell on the farmhouse.

Carrying the vest by the tips of his fingers, Vinnie opened the house’s door, his hand slipping on the doorknob before he got a good enough grip to turn it.

The house was vacant and silent, and Vinnie suddenly realized how stupid picking up the vest was. The Flying Squad could always deduct who had touched evidence--

But they couldn’t if the evidence was destroyed. Perhaps he could burn the vest--

A bucket covered with scorch marks was sitting next to the fireplace. Shoving the vest into the bucket, Vinnie grabbed a shovel near the fireplace and dumped several pieces of still-glowing coal into the bucket.

Vinnie’s rapid, harsh breathing was doing nothing to help his dizziness. He left the house, but leaned on the door frame, trying to stop shaking; trying to resist the urge to vomit onto the grass.

Off in the distance, gravel crunched.

Terror spiked through Vinnie. He bolted forward, nearly tripping as he bent down to grab a fistful of Maximinus’ hair, dragging him towards the horse tethered to the fence. Maximinus’ fifty pounds seemed like nothing as Vinnie picked him up and scrambled onto the horse. Vinnie ripped free the reins keeping the horse secured to the fence, kicked it, and shouted “Jump!” in English.

The horse did indeed attempt to leap over the fence, but instead, rather than jumping over the fence, it crashed into it and stumbled as a man appeared from behind the house.

Vinnie jumped off the horse and yanked Maximinus off its back, but lost his balance and fell onto the dirt.

“Hey, you!” the man shouted. “What are you doing with Bullseye?”

Vinnie shoved himself off the ground and kicked open the front gate, looking back at the man in spite of himself. Vinnie thought he recognized him as the traveling cowboy he'd seen doing odd jobs around Coyote Gorge, but, not feeling like dwelling on the man's identity, he continued sprinting away from the farm.

* * *

After several minutes of running, Vinnie and Maximinus arrived back in town. Ignoring the curious stares of passersby, Vinnie leaned against a wall and slid to the ground, staring at the sky.

He’d just committed murder.

Shortly before his own murder, Vinnie’s father had told him there was a nobility, an honor, in killing enemies of the Italians. What honor was there in seeing life vanish from a man’s eyes? What honor was there in the self-loathing creeping into Vinnie’s thoughts? How had his father dealt with taking someone’s life? How had he ignored the need to vomit up everything he’d recently consumed?

What had gone wrong? He and Benjamin were fighting, and Vinnie had picked up the pitchfork… Why hadn’t Benjamin stopped running at him?

“Vinnie?”

Giulietta was standing over him, dark circles under her eyes indicating a lack of sleep.

“Are you feeling well?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Did my father give you a job to do? Whatever it is, you should probably get it over with.”

Vinnie stared at her. A job to do. A job her father had given him. A job that was the cause of the blood on his hands.

Vinnie wished he hadn’t grown up so close to the Capecchis. Perhaps if he was a normal member of the mob, she’d ignore him, because right now, he needed to be alone.

“Vinnie? Are you feeling sick?”

He likely looked awful. He certainly felt sick, but he forced himself to stand without leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“You do know what could happen if--?”

“Dio mio, leave me alone, Giulietta!” he shouted. Giulietta jumped as Vinnie continued his tirade. “I don’t need your help! I know what I am doing!”

He turned away from her and brought his shaking hand to his forehead, biting his lip.

He needed to think.

* * *

Vinnie lay on his side, clutching his stomach. He’d already vomited into a basin next to his bed, but he wasn’t feeling any better. He was still shivering, light-headed, and dizzy.

He wanted to stay inside and be alone with Miximinus, who was sleeping on Vinnie’s bed. Would it look suspicious if he vanished into his home? He wouldn’t mind lying on the floor for the next few days, the basin near if he needed it. But should he go about on his normal business? If he stayed inside, someone could find him curled on the ground, sweating, surrounded by the stench of his own vomit….

Yes. Yes, he should pretend everything was normal. Pretend nothing had happened. Avoid suspicion.

He sat up, wiped his eyes, and donned his hat.

* * *

At the general store, as Vinnie put groceries in his bag, he silently fretted about his appearance. Was he too pale? Did he still look sick? On the way to and inside the store, he’d kept his gaze fixed firmly in front of him, not seeing or acknowledging anyone else.

“Vinegar, tomatoes, wheat, apples,” he mumbled under his breath, keeping his focus on shopping and nothing else, even if he didn’t think he’d ever regain his appetite.

As Vinnie walked to another isle, movement outside caught his attention. He instinctively glanced out the store’s window, and his stomach dropped.

Isaac and Ethel, detectives from the Flying Squad, were approaching the general store.

Vinnie dropped his bag, attracting the attention of several people in the store. Shoving past anyone in his way, Vinnie snuck out of the store through a side entrance. Vinnie glanced around to the front of the shop in time to see Issac and Ethel clearing people out of the building. Taking advantage of the crowd being herded out of the store, Vinnie pushed through the group of people as he quickly walked to the outhouses on the other side of the store.

He leaned against a wall of one of the outhouses, running his fingers through his hair. The Flying Squad was here. They must be investigating Benjamin’s death.

The Flying Squad-- especially Ethel-- were always able to solve any sort of murder. Vinnie knew Isaac, at least, hated him. He’d never given Isaac any reason not to, and Vinnie knew Isaac would love to arrest him and drag him off to prison.

Vinnie wanted to run away from the general store, but surely, several people would see and report him. Vinnie wasn’t entirely certain he’d mastered a look of nonchalance ever since he’d returned from the farm, and trying to run from the store would make him appear more panicked and guilty. No, the best thing to do would be to confront them and act innocent. He could do that. Talk to them as quickly as possible to please them, then leave.

Vinnie swallowed and forced his breathing to return to normal before turning away from the outhouses. He had taken about three steps before he almost collided with Isaac and Ethel, who were walking out of the general store.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Isaac said, glaring at Vinnie. “We’d like a word with you, Mr. Costa.”

Vinnie frowned. “Dio mio, not you and your flying cigar again, detectives!” He was much more hostile to them than he was when he’d encountered them in Sinner’s End a month ago. Ethel seemed to notice this, as she looked as if she was about to greet him in a friendlier manner than her partner, but upon hearing Vinnie’s hostile greeting, she allowed Isaac to continue.

Isaac’s glare hardened. “We cannot pretend we are pleased to see you either, Mr. Costa. What are you doing in Coyote Gorge? Getting up to no good?”

“What am _I_ doing here?” Vinnie said. He mentally cursed himself; his voice had risen in pitch. Controlling himself, he said, “What are YOU doing here? I live in Coyote Gorge. It’s my quartiere! Can’t I buy my groceries without the Flying Squad questioning me?”

“Not considering a murder has taken place on your doorstep, Mr. Costa,” Isaac said. “What do you know about a Mr. Benjamin Galls?”

“Niente! I know nothing of a Mr. Galls!” Vinnie said. His voice had risen again. Once more forcing his voice to return to normal, he said, “Now, let me fetch my groceries and get home to my collie, Maximinus. If I leave him alone for too long, he’ll chew all my wheat!”

“Well, you’ll have to leave him and your groceries alone for a while longer,” Isaac said. “We need you at the airship.”

“Why do you need me at your flying cigar? I have not done anything wrong!”

“That remains to be determined,” Isaac said, crossing his arms. “But we need you for your mugshot. You’ve been a suspect in three other murder investigations. Surely you know what the process entails!”

“Fine,” Vinnie said, fiddling with his shirt collar. “But make it quick. Maximinus does not like to be left alone!”

* * *

Vinnie learned against a wall in his home, Maximinus still sleeping on Vinnie’s bed. Having his mugshot taken felt like he was being arrested. Although he’d spent nights in jail before for gambling, getting into brawls, and other misdemeanors, he’d never killed for anyone in the mob.

Why hadn’t his father ever told him what killing for the mob truly felt like? Had Giovanni felt _indifference_ when he’d committed murder? But what sane, stable person could think of the events leading to and during the act of ripping away someone’s life and feel nothing but apathy?

Vinnie looked at the bag of groceries sitting next to him he’d picked up after his stop at the airship. Purchasing them was a mistake. His appetite was still gone.

The air inside was stifling. Vinnie disliked staying in one small, enclosed room with nothing to do in the best of circumstances, but now, Vinnie felt in danger of choking.

He stood up. He’d take a walk. Perhaps the open air would be less suffocating.

Donning his hat, Vinnie stepped outside. People were milling about, walking their dogs, laughing as they gossiped with their friends.

How many of them would be evicted from their homes before Vittorio obtained enough land for his railroad?

Someone had left a newspaper lying in the dirt, and Vinnie picked it up. By glancing at the headlines, he could tell the paper was full of evening wheezes, false news that only existed to catch someone’s attention and elicit enough money from them to pay for the paperboy’s next meal.

Regardless, it was a distraction. Vinnie skimmed the paper, not actually reading any of its articles, his mind drifting to the events of that morning.

“Mr. Costa!”

Them again.

Vinnie hadn’t been paying attention to where he was walking, but he was now standing outside of a bar, and Isaac and Ethel were striding towards him.

“Mr. Costa,” Isaac repeated, holding up a hand mirror Vinnie had stolen from the Galls’ front yard a few days prior, when he had placed the first threat to Benjamin in his mailbox. “We’d like you to explain what you were doing with Mr. Galls’ belongings.”

“Maledizione, you police keep accosting me with questions, when I’m just on my way to buy milk, like a nice, legal citizen!” Vinnie exclaimed, throwing the paper into the dirt. “But if you must know, Mr. Galls gave me that mirror as a gift-- you know, for being a good neighbor!”

That was obviously a lie, and not a very good one at that, but it was the best Vinnie could invent on the spot. Vinnie had stolen the mirror, intending to send it to Lelia, his younger sister, for her twentieth birthday. However, before he could do so, he’d accidentally lost the mirror while shopping.

Isaac scowled at Vinnie. “That’s interesting, since the last time we spoke to you, you denied knowing Mr. Galls.”

Vinnie silently cursed. He’d forgotten he’d said that. Stumbling over his words, he said, “Well, I-- I didn’t know him that well…. But, um, he was very generous with his belongings!”

“A likely story!” Isaac shouted. “I’d wager that you were pilfering them! And if you killed Mr. Galls for catching you in the act, Inspector Ethel and I will find out!”

“No, no, no!” Vinnie protested, fighting the urge to wipe away the sweat forming on his brow. “You’ve got it all wrong! Me, I’m an honest Italiano! I’m no killer!”

“That remains to be seen, Mr. Costa,” Isaac said coldly. “I suspect we shall meet again.”

They left Vinnie standing alone in the street.

 _They’re going to catch me,_ Vinnie thought as he stared at the ground, hunched forward and gripping his forearms. He’d hidden the evidence, but in his panicked state, he likely hadn’t hidden it well enough. All three of the Flying Squad's detectives had an uncanny knack for uncovering clues, evidence, and everything else a police officer needed to solve a crime.

_Maledizione. Maledizione._

His mouth was dry; he should at least try to drink something. He changed his mind about taking a walk and turned back towards his home.

* * *

When Vinnie opened his home's door, Maximinus ran to and jumped on him. As Vinnie absentmindedly pet his dog, something on his bed caught his attention.

It was a note, written in Italian.

_That’s one way to get him off his land. His daughter, and now his mother, still live there. You’ll receive your payment once you’ve killed them._

Vinnie threw the note onto the ground and kicked it under his bed.

* * *

A few more hours had passed, and Vinnie’s appetite still had yet to return.

Ever since he’d read the note, he’d done nothing but pace around the room, tug at his clothes, move around his belongings, and relive the events of the morning. Evening was approaching, and it was usually around now that he and Maximinus walked around town before returning home for dinner. Vinnie, however, had no desire to either go back outside or eat. He did not want to encounter Isaac and Ethel again, nor look at other residents of Coyote Gorge, all who might become Vittorio’s next victims.

But Vinnie could tell Maximinus was growing restless and needed to exercise. And Maximinus hadn’t done anything wrong. Vinnie supposed it wasn’t fair to punish Maximinus for his owner’s actions.

Vinnie exhaled and stood up. “Come on, Maximinus,” he murmured to his dog, opening the door.

Vinnie wandered aimlessly around the town, following Maximinus. He was so focused on giving off an air of indifference to the point where the general store’s owner had to call his name three times before he heard her.

“Uh, Mr. Costa?” she said, calling him from the front of her store. “The police are--”

“Ahem.”

Vinnie jumped as Isaac and Ethel appeared behind him-- they must have been watching the store on the other side of the road. Upon seeing them, Maximinus wagged his tail and attempted to jump on Isaac.

“Control your dog, Mr. Costa,” Isaac said. “Ethel and I have something rather important to tell you.”

“Giu, Maximinus,” Vinnie said. “Bravo cane. What do you want, detectives?”

And even as Vinnie asked that question, he knew exactly what Isaac was going to say.

“Vinnie Costa,” Isaac said, removing a pair of handcuffs from his coat. “You are under arrest for the murder of Benjamin Galls.”

“Did you kill a man just so you could steal his belongings?” Ethel asked, matching her partner’s glower. “I didn't think you were--”

“Sta scherzando? I never laid a hand on Mr. Galls, Inspector Ethel!” Vinnie exclaimed rather loudly, looking away from Ethel and Isaac.

“Is that so?” Isaac said, raising an eyebrow. “Then why was you collie present during the murder? The dog left traces on the victim's vest!”

“Hey, you leave Maximinus out of this!” Vinnie said, crouching at Maximinus’ side and petting him, attempting to hide his shaking hands. “I had nothing to do with this murder, and neither did he!”

“Stand up, Mr. Costa, we are having a conversation,” Isaac said. “And your dog is missing his collar--”

“-- which we found at the crime scene,” Ethel said. “You left fibers from your cowboy hat on it!”

“M-Maledizione!” Vinnie stammered, standing up, pushing back the brim of his hat, and feeling several beads of sweat on his forehead. “Everyone around here wears such a hat!”

“Vinnie, you’ve been a suspect in three previous homicide investigations!” Ethel snapped. “You should know we’ve never failed to arrest a murderer! We found your blood on the pitchfork you used to impale Mr. Galls!”

So they had everything. Of course, in his panic, the way he’d hid the evidence had been sloppy, and Ethel was right. She in particular had become famous in the newspaper for how quickly she and her partners solved murders.

“E va bene, you got me, Inspector Ethel!” Vinnie said, smacking his forehead. “I killed Mr. Galls. But I didn’t mean to!”

“Mr. Costa,” Isaac said. “How does one accidentally--?”

“Wait,” Ethel said. “What do you mean?”

“It was the mob!” Vinnie said, and even thinking about the mob made him feel Marvin’s pistol pressed against his head. “They sent me to force him into giving up his land!”

“His land?” Isaac said. “You mean to say you killed him because he refused to leave his home behind, giving it up to the Italians?”

“It’s better to leave than to die!” Vinnie said. “That’s how things are around here; the Italians have control over everything. You either keep your head down and do as they say, or they target you! I tried sending Benjamin threats at first, to make him understand… but he didn’t listen! So I went to rough him up a little, you know how it is!”

And describing aloud what had happened to Isaac and Ethel invited a fresh wave of thickness to Vinnie’s throat. “But things got out of hand! He fought back!”

Vinnie grasped his head, his voice wavering. “I threatened him with the pitchfork, thinking he’d back off, but he made a lunge for me…. And I ended up impaling him by accident! I didn’t mean-- I didn’t want--”

And as both Ethel and Isaac’s eyes pierced him, something wet fell from Vinnie’s eye and slid down his face that he made no attempt to conceal. “I never wanted it to come to this, Inspector Ethel. But I guess this is what happens when you work for the Italian mob!”

“What happens is you end up in jail, Mr. Costa,” Isaac said flatly. “You’re under arrest! Ethel, do you mind handcuffing him while I find the paddy wagon? Ramirez must have sent in to the wrong part of town.”

Ethel sighed. “Accident or not, Vinnie.....”

After a moment of hesitation, Vinnie voluntarily stuck his hands behind him, flinching as the metal clasped around and dug into his wrists. He kept his head down, watching his tears fall to the dirt through his blurred vision. He supposed it didn’t matter than people were passing by and staring at him. He’d never see any of them again, and he deserved any humiliation that came with people seeing him handcuffed and crying in the middle of town.

Maximinus could tell his owner was suffering, and he jumped on Vinnie, his tail wagging.

“No, Maximinus. Giu. Fermo,” Vinnie said hoarsely. “Fermo. Fermo--”

The clopping of horse hooves drew Maximinus’ attention as the paddy wagon stopped in front of Vinnie.

Vinnie obediently walked inside the wagon, ignoring Maximinus’ barks as the wagon rode away.

* * *

In Concordia, one was obliged to pay for their own lawyer. Therefore, Vinnie stood by himself, not wanting to look at the judge who said, “Mr. Costa, you stand accused of killing Mr. Benjamin Galls on behalf of the Italian mob. How do you plead?”

“Guilty, Your Honor,” Vinnie said, his eyebrows pulling into the center of his forehead as he stared at the polished floor of the courtroom. “But it was an accident!”

He tried to force himself to look at the judge, but found himself unable to return his gaze. Vinnie instead stared at the ceiling as he ran his fingers through his hair and said, “I’d never killed for the mob before, and I didn’t mean to start now! I don’t know how it all went so wrong!”

“I’d take a wild guess and say it all went wrong when you tried to threaten an honest man out of his home on the mob’s orders, Mr. Costa!” the judge shouted. Then, composing himself, he said, “However, this Court shall take into account the fact that the murder was not premeditated.”

Premeditated. The murder wasn’t premeditated. But in a way it was; Vinnie wasn’t planning on taking “no” for an answer when he’d arrived at Benjamin’s farm….

The judge raised his gavel. “You are hereby sentenced to ten years in prison!”

Vinnie gripped his head, clutching his hair. “Dio mio, may la Madonna forgive me! Being in the mob has cost me everything!”

He was suddenly torn between the urge to collapse on the ground, or tell the judge he deserved a longer sentence, but before he could do either of those two things, police officers were dragging him out of the courtroom. Someone pushed a prison uniform at him-- and then he was in a cell, his clothes, hat, boots, and everything he’d had in his pockets taken.

He sat on the cell’s bed and buried his face in his hands. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vinnie's been caught, sentenced to serve the next decade of his life in prison for what he did.  
> But now, alone and isolated with only his thoughts for company, his guilt only has time to fester and grow.  
> He has to do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter has both a) more, slightly more detailed throwing up and b) some slight religious themes/praying. I know some people get extremely offended by such content, so, if you're one of those people, I'd turn around and not read this.

The first night in prison was the worst night of Vinnie’s life.

The night after Giovanni’s murder, Vinnie had eventually cried himself to sleep, although waking up the next morning had brought both more tears on top of fury at Giovanni’s killer. But now, staring at the cell’s roof, Vinnie found it impossible to sleep. His knuckles still hurt. Until a guard had yelled at him to settle down, Vinnie had spent nearly fifteen minutes pacing around his cell, punching the wall, and cursing himself.

He had to fall asleep. It would be hours until morning, and the only thing he could think of was Benjamin running onto the pitchfork and his unfocused, glazed eyes.

Which were, of course, all Vinnie’s doing. What in the world had been going through his head when he’d agreed to evict Benjamin from his farm? He’d been so sure of himself, because what could go wrong? Every sensible person in Coyote Gorge was terrified of the Italians, or, at least, Vittorio. Vinnie had been Vittorio’s messenger; therefore, people should’ve been equally terrified of him.

But where had he gotten the idea that Benjamin, who stood up to the mob at every opportunity, would have backed down? Vinnie was so, so arrogant for thinking he could scare Benjamin into leaving his home; for thinking Benjamin would back off when Vinnie brandished the pitchfork.

Everything that had happened was his fault. And if he was being honest with himself, he only had himself to blame. At the farm, it was him, not Vittorio, who’d brandished that pitchfork.

It was Vinnie alone who had ended Benjamin’s life and ruined his own.

* * *

The next morning, Vinnie woke to the sound of a guard calling his name. Still exhausted and disorientated-- he’d apparently fallen asleep for a couple hours, even if he didn’t recall doing so-- Vinnie sat up, trying to process what the guard was yelling at him.

“Get up, Costa! You have visitors!”

Visitors? Who on earth would visit him in prison? Not Vittorio; if one one his henchmen were arrested, they were on their own.

Vinnie received his answer when the guard escorted him to the prison's tiny visiting room. There, sitting on one of the room’s benches and flanked by two additional prison guards, were Ethel and Isaac.

Vinnie stared at them. He’d confessed to murder, and what other crime could top  _ that? _ He hadn’t killed anyone else, and because they likely had their hands full with Vittorio, why would they waste time visiting him?

“Hello, Vinnie,” Ethel said.

Vinnie continued to stare at her blankly. “Porca vacca, Inspector Ethel, I don’t know what you think I can do for you now I’m in prigione!”

“Well, fortunately, we do,” Ethel said, indicating Isaac. “We’ve come to realize if your reaction when we confronted you and when you were on trial is any indication, you’re feeling guilty for what you did. Perhaps you could feel better if you told us what the mob plans on doing with the land they’re purchasing from the people they’ve been evicting across Coyote Gorge.”

They wanted him to rat out Vittorio? 

Vinnie could forget being shot. If he tattled on Vittorio, Vinnie was sure he’d be murdered in a far more gruesome manner.

But he’d spent less than a day in prison, and if the previous night was any indication, the heavy, sick feeling he’d been experiencing ever since he’d ran from the farm would only grow worse if he spent his years in prison without doing anything to attempt to fix what he’d done. And if Ethel and Isaac did indeed have their hands full with Vittorio, and Vinnie refused to give them any sort of information, he’d waste their time, and in a way, be complicity aiding Vittorio.

But he was still a coward, because in spite of all he’d done, he still didn’t want to die.

Vinnie sighed and glanced to the side. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to help you in order to make up for my terrible mistake….”

He looked up. Issac was glaring at him disapprovingly, but Ethel was slightly leaning forward, looking intently on him.

“But I won't last five minutes in prison if I rat on the Italians!” Vinnie said vehemently. He adjusted his uniform’s collar and said, “I’m sorry, Inspector Ethel, you’ll have to figure things out for yourself!”

Isaac scowled at him. “You’ve wasted our time, Mr. Costa. Even if you accidentally killed Mr. Galls, you’ve clearly--”

“Aspetta!” Vinnie said. “I’m not finished! Uh-- maybe you could try looking in the Galls’ kitchen. There might be--uh, that should be helpful, capisce?”

“Their kitchen?” Ethel said, standing up. “Very well, then. Thank you, Vinnie.”

“I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Isaac said. “And Charlie needed you at the farm anyways, Ethel. Let’s not waste any more time here.”

As the guards escorted Vinnie back to his cell, he suddenly wished Ethel hadn’t thanked him. He was trying to aid them, yes, but his effort had been rather feeble. When Vinnie had delivered his first threat to Benjamin, he’d also left a map of Coyote Gorge in the Galls’ mailbox. On the map, Vinnie had drawn a line, which ran through the farm, indicating the offshoot of the railroad Vittorio wanted to build.

But Vinnie didn’t know if Benjamin had kept the map, or, if he had, if Ethel or anyone else in the Flying Squad would be able to determine what the added lines on the map signified.

He sat on the cell’s bed and hunched over, leaning his head on his hand. The slight, brief relief he’d felt upon giving Ethel and Isaac his useless hint had vanished. He might as well have told them nothing, for all the difference it made.

What did his ten years in prison even matter? Even when he was released, nothing could possibly make him forget or forgive himself for what he’d done.

Simply because he hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours, he attempted to eat some of the prison’s breakfast, but after one forkful of beans, decided against it. His appetite had yet to return, and he doubted it ever would.

Regardless of what Vinnie did throughout the day, the same images of Benjamin running onto the pitchfork, his corpse falling against Vinnie, and his empty eyes remained at the forefront of Vinnie’s mind. Around noon, the prison’s inmates were chained together and marched to Bull Mine to complete manual labor by mining for ore. Vinnie spent his energy striking the rock again and again, trying to focus on exerting himself as opposed to what he’d done the previous morning. To a small extent, it worked, and he didn’t care that his aggression earned him several mistrustful looks from the guards. But too quickly, the inmates returned to the prison and Vinnie was once again in his cell with nothing to do except be trapped alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Vinnie did manage to fall asleep that night, but wished he hadn’t.

In his dream, he was once more at the farm. This time, he stabbed Benjamin with the pitchfork again, again, and again, until it was too deeply embedded in Benjamin’s chest to remove. He was covered in Benjamin’s blood, and he tried to wash it off in the water trough, but it stuck to his hands, and Benjamin’s body was lying next to him--

He jolted awake, his heartbeat nearly exploding and his hands shaking. He had barely stumbled off his bed and staggered to the cell’s chamber pot before vomiting into it. Because he had barely eaten since being incarcerated, there was only bile in the liquid, and the stench of it made him want to regurgitate the contents of his stomach once more.

He remained leaning over the chamber pot for several more minutes before abandoning it and crawling to the side of the bed, with no intention of attempting to fall back asleep. He leaned against the bed, his eyes gritty and burning from a lack of sleep and tears that were once more threatening to appear.

He quietly moaned into his arms. He wasn’t going to survive sitting in prison, doing nothing, listening to other prisoners bragging about their violent crimes while the image of Benjamin’s dead eyes remained at the forefront of his mind.

Vinnie had once insisted to Ethel that he was a good Catholic when she and her Irish partner were investigating Father Donovan’s murder. He hadn’t been entirely truthful. He’d abstain from fighting, drinking, or playing poker on holidays, but he rarely attended Mass or confessions.

But now, lying against his bed, he decided there was no way he could fix his situation without divine intervention, and so he found himself closing his eyes and whispering to the floor, “Oh, God, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. Please, please give me an opportunity to fix what I did; to give me some way to atone for what I did….”

He finished his prayer and opened his eyes. Vinnie didn’t know if he had any right to be begging for forgiveness. He’d murdered an innocent man, deprived a little girl of her father, left his mother and little sister in Italy with no way to fend for themselves.

But he’d only been in prison a day and was already tearing himself apart. If the divine couldn’t help him, no power on earth could.

Vinnie’s mouth was still sour and bitter from vomiting, and he pulled himself inward and huddled against the side of the bed.

* * *

Vinnie sat at a table the next morning, staring at his breakfast. The slop smelled stronger than the previous day and only reminded Vinnie of the smell of both dirt and blood on Benjamin's vest.

Vinnie knew not eating was a stupid idea. He’d need his energy for the chain gang, and the guards would likely force-feed him if they thought he was trying to starve himself.

But because his mouth still tasted like bile, he pushed his tray away.

* * *

There was blood on Vinnie’s hands, blood on the pitchfork, blood on Maximinus, blood on Benjamin--

Vinnie paced back and forth. Back and forth, but he couldn’t outpace his thoughts.

He’d deprived a girl of a father, despite knowing exactly how it felt to lose a father.

He kicked the cell’s walls. Predictably, pain shot through his leg, but he didn’t care. He probably deserved it.

Vinnie leaned against the wall, shivering, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Costa!”

Vinnie started, looking at the guard standing outside the cell.

“You have visitors.”

* * *

When Vinnie entered the visiting room, Ethel did a slight double take. Vinnie didn’t blame her; he likely looked sleep deprived, gaunt, and pale, but he didn’t care. She and Isaac were here, which perhaps meant his prayer had been answered. It took great self-restraint to let them speak first before bombarding them with questions about why they were here and how he could help them.

“Mr. Costa,” Isaac said. “We have a proposition for you, something to shorten your time behind bars.”

“What can I do?” Vinnie said, pushing his fist into his hand. “I’m going pazzo in here! Nothing but time to think of what I did!”

“We’ve learned the Italians are throwing people off their land, then selling that land to the Concordia Railroad Company,” Ethel said. “We need proof Vittorio is illegally purchasing the land. You told us you went to the Galls’ farm on Vittorio’s orders, and we want you to testify against him in Court.”

Testify, directly testify, against Vittorio? Vinnie had prayed,  _ begged  _ for an opportunity to make up for what he’d done, but openly testifying against Vittorio was a death sentence.

Vinnie clutched his hair. “Oof, Madonna!” he moaned. “I wanna help, but I don’t wanna end up dead!”

“Think about it!” Ethel said, leaning forward, her eyes glowing. “Judge Lawson could shorten your sentence--”

“You could move far, far away from Concordia,” Isaac added. “You’d be free!”

Vinnie bit his lip. If Vittorio was convicted, Vinnie having his prison sentence shortened wouldn’t mean anything if someone else from the mob paid a guard to beat Vinnie to death. But Ethel and even Isaac were smiling expectantly, clearly expecting the best of him.

Vinnie sucked in his breath and clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “….Guarda, I’ll consider it IF you do something for me….” He trailed off for a moment, thinking of the few valuables he had. “Can you go to that shack where that crazy drunk guy lives? I hid money there.”

“Why?” Ethel asked. “What’s so--?”

“I need to make sure Vittorio doesn’t get that money!” Vinnie said. “He’s probably already raided my house and helped himself to whatever he could find there! The money’s for my family back in Italy: my mother, my little sister!”

“I suppose unconventional times call for unconventional favors,” Isaac said. “Where did you hide the money?”

“One word: Taxidermy!”

“Taxidermy?” Ethel said. “What do you mean?”

“You like finding things and solving puzzles,” said Vinnie. “That’s all I’m gonna say! You’ll know when you get to the hideout, Inspector Ethel!”

“Very well, then,” Ethel said, with a somewhat amused smile. “Taxidermy. Isaac and I will be back in a couple hours.”

She hesitated for a moment before smiling almost sweetly and said, “I do hope you’ll consider our proposal.”

* * *

Testify against Vittorio.

Vinnie wasn’t an idiot. Betraying the mob and testifying against Vittorio would put Vinnie squarely at the mob’s mercy, or lack thereof.

But if the Flying Squad gave him some sort of protection and his prison sentence was shortened, he could leave Concordia, go back to Italy, see his mother and sister, and have nothing to do with the mob.

If no one testified against Vittorio, people would get hurt. More people would die.

He dragged his fingers through his tangled hair and chewed on his lip. Isn’t this what he’d wanted? What he’d begged for last night? What good would his pleading have been if he was too scared to pounce on an opportunity presenting itself? And if he didn’t do anything, he’d be resigning himself to be eaten from the inside out by his guilt for the rest of his life.

He sat on his bed and rubbed the back of his neck, tapping his foot restlessly.

He’d sent Ethel and Isaac to collect the money he and Giovanni had saved over the years. Vinnie knew he wasn’t the most responsible with money, but whenever he obtained just a little of it, he’d store some away and never touch it again. He didn’t have enough shillings to bring his mother and sister over to Concordia, but there was probably enough to bring himself to Italy.

If he survived, he could see his family….

Even now, flashes of Benjamin’s body cropped up at the forefront of his mind.

He forced himself to control his breathing. He’d prayed for the opportunity he was being given, so he supposed it was only appropriate to accept what he’d wanted.

* * *

A couple hours later, Ethel and Isaac were once more facing him.

“Vinnie, we found your money,” Ethel said. “Have you had enough time to think about our offer?”

“Yeah, I thought long and hard about it….” Vinnie said. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds before bursting out, “I want to stop Vittorio before he ruins more lives…. If endangering my life is what it takes to atone, so be it!”

As Ethel smiled and Isaac’s lips twitched, Vinnie continued. “I will testify to whoever you want about everything illegal Vittorio’s done to get the lands he’s selling to the railroad company.”

“Thank you, Vinnie!” Ethel said, beaming. “Finally, some luck with Vittorio!”

“No, thank you for finding the money,” Vinnie said, rubbing the back of his head, grinning somewhat sheepishly. “Um--you keep a share of what you found. You deserve it for helping me keep out of his hands!”

“Oh--no, I couldn’t accept that,” Ethel said. “If it’s for your mother and sister--”

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer!” Vinnie insisted. “You found it, but it’s my money, so I can do whatever I want--”

“Ahem,” Isaac said. “If you two would stop bickering about the money, I’d like the three of us to return to the airship.”

“Your airship?” Vinnie said. “You’re moving me out of prison?”

“You’ll still be in custody,” Ethel said. “But we’d like to work with you before you testify, and it’d be easier if you stayed with us until then.”

“With that said, I really would like to leave this filthy place,” Isaac said. “I’m certain Chief Wright would like to hear this good bit of news.”

* * *

“We’re working on securing you a room in a saloon in Providence Town,” the Flying Squad’s chief, Arthur Wright, said. “I do apologize, but we will have to keep you in one of our holding cells until we arrive at Providence.”

“No, no, I understand,” Vinnie said, glancing curiously around the “flying cigar.” The Chief’s office was very organized. His books on his shelves were color-coded, and a telephone rested next to a neat pile of papers on his desk.

“However,” Arthur said. “You may be a miscreant, but we will give you some preferential treatment. Is there anything within reason we can give you?”

“Do you have paper and something to write with?”

“Yes, I think our archivist could supply you with that,” Arthur said. “Ah, Ethel, do you mind helping Mr. Costa settle in? You know securing a room at the saloon will take some talking and paperwork….”

“Er-- right,” Ethel said. “You can follow me, Vinnie.”

Ethel led Vinnie down the airship’s corridor in silence before suddenly saying, “You said you lived in Coyote Gorge, correct?”

“Si, why do you ask?”

“Calling the saloon and securing a room for you might take some time,” Ethel said. “I-- and Chief Wright will probably agree-- don’t think you need to wear that prison uniform while waiting for the trial. If you don’t mind me asking, you could tell me where you live and I could borrow Maddie’s automobile and fetch your clothes.”

“Oh. You’d do that? Va bene. You know Ethel Spencer’s general store? My little hut is across from the store, about ten buildings to the left if you’re looking out from the front entrance, capisce?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Ethel said. They arrived at the holding cell, which Ethel gestured to. “I apologize, but we’ll have to keep you in here.”

“Va bene. I’m not mad,” Vinnie shrugged, willingly walking into the cell.

“Good,” Ethel said. “I’ll make sure Evie gets you what you need to write your letter.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Vinnie was sitting at the small desk in the cell, looking at the blank sheet of paper in front of him and tapping the Squad’s archivists’ pen on the table. He’d scratched out the beginnings of several letters before he’d decided what to write.

_ To Mother and Lelia, _

_ Mother, before I left Italy, do you remember how you told me to stay out of trouble? Do you remember how I told you I hadn’t joined the mob after Father died? I lied. I joined them, and it’s cost me nearly everything. _

_ Recently, on the mob’s orders, I was sent to evict a man from his home. We fought, and I accidentally killed him. However, the police have offered me a deal, and I have agreed to testify against the mob’s leader in exchange for a lighter prison sentence. Even under police protection, I’m not entirely certain I’ll survive testifying against him. If a few months after you’ve read this and haven’t heard anything else from me, you can assume the worst. _

_ Take care of Mother, Leila. Get a job, if possible. Practice your reading. _

_ -Vinnie _

It was concise and to the point, and he didn’t want to detail all his wrongdoings to his mother. As he’d written to her and Leila throughout the years, he’d lied to them quite a bit; made it seem like he was doing something with his life and being productive. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with the full truth of what his life in Concordia was like. Imagining her and Leila’s reactions to the letter’s contents was discomforting enough.

“Are you finished?”

Vinnie jumped. Ethel was standing outside his cell, holding his clothes.

“Yeah,” he said, folding the letter. “Ah, you brought my hat, too! Grazie!”

Ethel turned around and let Vinnie change out of his prison uniform. From when he’d first met her in New Haven, Ethel had stood out from the rest of the police force. When he'd first met her, she’d been surprisingly polite, seemingly not disliking him if he didn’t give her a definitive reason to do so. He’d assumed her attitude was some sort of ploy to get his guard down to pry information out of him. It might have been-- it might still be-- but still, he could admit he liked the way she talked to him. When he’d encountered her in Sinner’s End a few months after last seeing her in New Haven, he had greeted her in a friendly manner he’d never before used with the police. 

Unlike with the rest of the police, his feelings towards her were somewhat complicated. 

“Do you want this?” Vinnie asked, slipping his boots on and holding out his prison uniform. “Where should I--”

“Hello, Ethel, Mr. Costa,” Arthur Wright said, walking into the cell block. “Ethel, could you let Mr. Costa out of his cell? The paperwork is off my desk, and the arrangements have been made. We’ll be sheltering Mr. Costa in the Fat Chance Saloon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vinnie has agreed to testify against Vittorio. As the day of the trial grows closer and closer, he--and everyone around him--knows that on that day, either Vittorio's life will be ruined or Vinnie's life will be over.  
> But Vinnie has made a deal with the Flying Squad, and he isn't about to back out of his agreement with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the ending of this chapter is a bit violent, and is where the "graphic depictions of violence" warning comes into play.

The Fat Chance’s saloon room was easily the nicest room Vinnie had ever lived in.

The wallpaper was unblemished, the wooden floor smooth and clean, and the gently-spinning ceiling fan indicated the room had electricity.

“Well, Costa,” said Rose Zhao, the Squad’s weapon expert, Vinnie’s bodyguard, and, as indicated by her ammunition belt and firearms, an accomplished revolveress. “We’ll be living here for the next few days. Make yourself comfortable.”

Vinnie glanced at the bed, which, like everything else in the room was of high quality.  _ That  _ looked comfortable. Ever since the Flying Squad had taken him into custody, the crushing weight of his guilt had been slightly alleviated. It wasn’t gone altogether--Vinnie doubted it ever would be-- but he thought he could maybe eat and sleep without vomiting or having violent nightmares.

Rose continued to talk. “Tomorrow, Ethel and Evie will review legal procedures with you and record what Vittorio’s been doing. But, for now, I’ve got a captive audience!” Rose grinned broadly. “Costa, I don’t believe you’ve ever learned how I lost my arm?”

Considering Rose had drawn attention to her mechanical arm, Vinnie allowed himself to stare at the appendage. “I haven’t. How do you lose an entire arm?”

Rose smirked. “Find a seat, Costa. You see, my dearly departed former husband was a bit of a piece of work….”

* * *

Later that night, Vinnie lay on the bed, thinking.

Somewhere to the left, slumped against a wall, Rose shifted. Vinnie had offered the bed to her-- he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor; he’d done so before-- but she’d refused.

“I’m twice your age, Costa, and I used to live on the streets,” Rose had said. “I’m more accustomed to sleeping on floors than you. Take the bed.”

Testifying against Vittorio. Coming up with a list of Vittorio’s crimes wouldn’t be a challenge. But telling the judge what Vittorio had done, while both Vittorio and his lawyer stared down Vinnie?

Vinnie rubbed his eyes and sat up. Perhaps if he walked around the perimeter of the room, he could tire himself out enough to fall asleep.

As he climbed out of the bed, Rose said, “Can’t sleep, Costa?”

“Oh. Mi dispiace. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, but I sleep lightly. What are you doing?”

“I was thinking about walking around to make myself tired.”

“Well, walking around might disturb other people in adjacent rooms or downstairs,” Rose said. “But you won’t want to be exhausted tomorrow when you talk to Ethel and Evie. How about this? If you climb back into your bed, I’ll tell you more stories about when I lived on the streets until you fall asleep.”

Vinnie returned to his bed as Rose began. “Once, I got into a fight with two recently-escaped convicts. I was in a back alley, and I encountered the men. They recognized me as the woman who had helped the police capture them when they’d committed armed robbery. You can guess they were quite angry upon seeing me. They attacked me, but  _ I  _ was ready. They swung at me, but I grabbed their heads and bashed them together….” 

Rose continued her story. Vinnie suspected she was exaggerating several details, but, regardless, she caught his attention. In spite of himself, he hung onto her words, and, with some effort, only focused on what she was saying until he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The morning three days before the trial, someone knocked on the room’s door.

“Ah, that’s probably Al with our breakfast,” Rose said. “I’ll open it.”

Oh…. Albert Salucci, the saloon’s owner. As far as Vinnie knew, Al wasn’t a member of the mob, but Vinnie had occasionally played cards against Al and won using…. less than honest methods.

Al didn’t like anyone, but Vinnie knew he especially didn’t like him.

“Here’s your breakfast, Zhao…. Costa,” Al said, glancing behind Rose at Vinnie. He handed over the breakfast trays and left the room without giving Vinnie more than a passing glance.

* * *

Al’s lip curled as he walked away from Costa’s room. The cheat hadn’t even had the bravery to look Al in the eye.

Well, unfortunately for Costa, he’d be seeing Al multiple times during his stay at the saloon. Of course, seeing Al wasn’t the most undesirable thing about Costa’s current situation.

When Arthur Wright had called Al, he’d asked if the Flying Squad could ‘shelter’ Costa in the saloon.

Several people of different professions drank at the saloon: mobsters, farmers, store owners, and prison guards. If what Al had overheard from a prison guard last night was any indication, Costa had more or less recently agreed to forfeit his life.

Al wanted the money Costa had cheated him out of. Perhaps the next time he delivered the meals, Al could make a quick inventory of the room and see if Costa had his wallet with him.

Costa wouldn’t need his money where he was ending up.

* * *

A couple hours after Vinnie and Rose finished breakfast, Ethel and Evie, the Flying Squad’s archivist, arrived at the room.

“Hello again, Vinnie,” Ethel said, placing several of Evie’s books on the room’s table.

“Hello, Mr. Costa!” Evie said cheerfully. “I thought it would be helpful for all of us if you told us exactly what laws Vittorio has broken before the trial.”

“You’ll still have to testify by yourself, of course,” Ethel said. “But we thought it would be easier if you organized your thoughts now so you know in advance what you’ll be saying.”

“Va bene. That sounds reasonable.”

Evie uncapped a pen and opened a notebook as Ethel said, “You’ll don’t have to detail his crimes in chronological order. We’ll focus on organizing what you’ve said later.”

And so Vinnie began with what had already drifted to the forefront of his mind.

“Obviously, he coerced me-- instructed me-- to force the Galls off their land,” he said, his throat constricting as he thought of that morning. “He told me he’d pay me if I did it. Nothing about him evicting people is legal-- these people have all paid for and own their land.”

“He told me to get Benjamin and his daughter off their farm. He told me I could be violent with them. After a few days passed without me doing anything except sending threats, he threatened me.”

“How so?” Ethel asked.

Vinnie swallowed, hoping he could somewhat hide how shaken-up his interaction with Vittorio and Marvin had left him.

“Vittorio was getting impatient, you know? I wasn’t working fast enough. So the day before…. Before I killed Benjamin, he summoned me to his hacienda. He told me I was acting too slow. His bodyguard held me at gunpoint, and they said they’d kill me if the Galls weren’t off their farm soon. They said they’d sent someone else to the farm before me… I think they killed him after he failed his job. There’s more-- ugh, but I don’t have proof!” Vinnie said, smacking his forehead. “I know recently another member of the mob-- I forget his name-- was sent to evict a different farmer. He broke into the man’s house and nearly beat him to death. The man was gone the next day. He was too afraid to notify the police.”

Evie was furiously scribbling in her notebook, occasionally opening another book to check something. Ethel had been nodding while he’d talked, her attention rapt.

Vinnie silently cursed himself. Why had he ever considered joining the mob as honorable? He had thought poorly of Giulietta for being sheltered and naïve. But thinking of everything that had happened in the past few days was making Vinnie realize he had been exactly the same as her.

“Dio mio, I’m so stupid,” he moaned, rubbing his face. “I should’ve talked to you sooner. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have-- Vittorio wouldn’t have--”

“I’ll be honest, you’ve made some poor decisions,” Ethel said, and Vinnie looked at her. “Accident or not, you did take someone's life.”

_ I know, I know, I remind myself enough of that…. _

“But,” Ethel said. “I’ve seen and arrested a lot of criminals. And none of them have felt enough remorse for their crimes to try to fix what they’ve done. But you said you’re willing to put your life on the line to save the lives of people you won’t ever meet.” She paused, then smiled slightly. “Keep that in mind.”

The room was silent for a moment before Ethel said, "I can carry those books, Evie."

“Mr. Costa, we’ll be back tomorrow,” Evie said. “I’ve been collecting newspaper articles about people in Coyote Gorge abandoning their homes under strange circumstances. Perhaps if you read the articles, they could prompt you to remember something else or more of Vittorio’s crimes?”

“Va bene. Okay,” Vinnie said. “Yes, that might work.”

He was staring at Ethel, and she was glancing at the floor from behind the stack of books. If he was interpreting her words correctly, she was implying he was a decent person. But he clearly wasn’t. How had she drawn that conclusion?

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Costa,” Evie said brightly. “Thank you for working with us!”

“Uh--no, thank you,” Vinnie said. “Tomorrow, then.”

The women left the room, leaving Vinnie and Rose alone.

Vinnie stared at the door. He’d killed someone, accident or not. As Isaac had once said, he was a miscreant who’d rarely done a day’s worth of honest work in his life. Good people didn’t do that. They just didn’t.

“Poker, Costa?”

“I--what?”

“You know how to play poker, right?” Rose said. “I would assume someone who’s lived on the streets would know how to play, in case you ever were willing to do something risky to get a few extra shillings.”

“I know how to play, yes,” Vinnie said curiously.

“Well,” Rose said, standing up. “Sitting around waiting for the day to end, quite frankly, sounds rather dull. Shall we play? I have cards and chips.”

“You want to?” Vinnie said, somewhat slyly. “I’ve won a good number of games….”

“Costa, like I said before, I’m twice your age. I’m confident I’ve played and won at least twice as many games as you,” Rose said, retrieving her handbag. “We won’t be using actual money, since you’re still in police custody, but we can still enjoy ourselves, no?”

Vinnie sat as Rose dealt the cards. As they played, a permanent smirk formed on Rose’s face.

“What?” Vinnie asked, watching Rose examine her cards.

“Oh, nothing,” Rose said smugly. “Except, of course, that…. exchange… between you and Ethel. I’d reckon she thinks you’re a decent person.”

“Me?” Vinnie said, pushing several chips to the center of the table. “Per favore, let’s not have delusions about that. I’m trying to fix what I did, but a decent person would not have done such a thing in the first place.”

“Perhaps,” Rose shrugged. “But a bad person wouldn’t try to fix their mistake. I’ve worked in law enforcement longer than Ethel. I’ve rarely seen criminals try to repair the damage they’ve caused. It’s something, Costa. Your turn.”

Vinnie’s gaze flickered between the cards in his hands and the chips.

He was trying to atone for what he’d done, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t doing so to sooth his own conscience.

“Costa?”

“Oh, mi dispiace,” Vinnie said, pushing more chips to the table’s center. “I was just thinking.”

* * *

“He’s just as intelligent as a human,” Rose bragged, indicating her pet rat perched on her shoulder. “I promise I’ve seen him emote, and he can do tricks…. He’s like a dog, but smaller so he can sit on my shoulder,  _ and  _ I can sneak him into public places.”

After Al had delivered their dinners-- Vinnie had again avoided looking at Al- Rose had grown bored. She’d thus decided to educate Vinnie about her pet rat, “Ratsputin.” Vinnie admitted the creature did seem to have some level of intellect unusual in rats.

Rose set Ratsputin on the floor, letting him wander around the room. “I found him last year in my apartment, barely alive, with one of his legs severed. I know what it feels like to lose a limb, so I-- what have you got there, Ratsputin?”

The rat had emerged from under the room’s bathtub, chewing on a scrap of paper. Rose looked under the bathtub and removed a leather-bound journal.

“CJ?” Rose said, reading the letters inscribed on the journal’s corner. “That’s-- ah….” Rose snorted. “Well. She forgot her journal.”

“Who?” Vinnie asked.

“Ah, nobody,” Rose said, tossing the journal onto the floor. “Just the woman who was staying here before you.”

* * *

Outside in the fading daylight, Catastrophe Joan scowled at the window of the room hosting Costa and Rose. Ever since one of Stonewall’s prison guards had told her Vinnie Costa had been taken into custody by the Flying Squad and planned to testify against Vittorio, Joan had altered between feeling satisfied Vittorio was being brought to trial and wanting to break into the room and shoot Costa in the head.

As evidenced by the newspaper story she had read and her acquaintances at Stonewall, Vinnie was a murderer, just like his father.

But if he was going to testify against Vittorio….

Joan scoffed and turned away from the window. Thanks to Costa and the Flying Squad, she’d been forced to find somewhere else to stay. If she hadn’t already paid for her room, she might have done a Dutch and left the saloon without paying her expenses.

Ah, who was she trying to fool? Several members of the law enforcement had tried and failed to bring Vittorio to justice. Now wouldn’t be any different.

But nobody had ever had a member of the mob on their side….

No matter.

If Vinnie remained alive until the trial, Vittorio would be locked away. Personally, Joan thought putting a bullet between his eyes would be more efficient, but, unfortunately, the law disagreed.

But Joan would be satisfied if somebody killed Vinnie. The sheriff Giovanni Costa had murdered all those years ago could be avenged, and Vinnie and his father could grin at the daisy roots together.

Both outcomes had their merits.

* * *

As it was two days before the planned trial date, Ethel and Evie were more anxious than the previous day.

“I’m sorry if these are a bit illegible,” a tired-looking Evie said, handing Vinnie her notes and several newspaper clippings.

For the duration of the morning, Vinnie read through her materials, dug up everything he could about Vittorio, watched Evie scribble in her notebook, and answered Ethel’s questions. 

It was noon when Evie and Ethel began to gather Evie’s materials and leave.

“Wait, Ethel,” Rose said. “Have either of you recently seen Vittorio?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since last week,” Ethel said. “It doesn’t seem very many people have.”

Rose frowned. “Ugh. Someone better find him….we can’t bring nobody to court…. Never mind, Ethel, Evie. We’ll work something out, even if we have to hunt around the entirety of Coyote Gorge to find him.”

* * *

From under the brim of her hat, Franca Capecchi watched the two members of the Flying Squad leave the saloon.

Once the women were out of sight, Franca exited the general store and entered the saloon.

“Whisky punch, Al,” she said, approaching the bar, where Al was cleaning a shot glass.

As she waited for her drink and removed money from her wallet, she found  _ that  _ picture of her and Vinnie.

She snorted derisively. In the picture, she and Vinnie were smiling at each other. It had been photographed back when he was a boy with honor.

But now, he was a floor above her, living comfortably, preparing to betray his family; everything his father had lived and died for.

Ungrateful traitor. Who had taken him under her wing when his father was murdered?

Not anyone from the Flying Squad.

She wouldn’t mind going to Vinnie’s room now, tying one of her perfect knots, and strangling Vinnie, or, perhaps, hanging him from the ceiling or out the window. But surely, there was no need to do such a thing.

Her husband would send someone to silence Vinnie in a couple days time. Perhaps on the day of the trial, to let the turncoat think he had a chance of living through testifying against his former family, only to be proven oh-so-very wrong.

Franca gave the photograph a contemptuous glare and tore it to pieces, littering the floor. With any luck, the scum’s death would be bloody, painful, and a reminder that betraying your family carried grim consequences.

He was nothing like his father.

* * *

The day before the trial, Vinnie awoke feeling a bit ill and decided to skip his breakfast.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Rose to do her best to guard him. But when Vittorio wanted someone dead….

“Shut up,” he muttered to himself. He’d asked for this,  _ begged  _ for a chance to fix his mistake… and he was getting what he’d asked for.

He picked up the papers Evie had left for him detailing Vittorio’s crimes. Vinnie’s eyes skimmed over her notes without absorbing anything she’d written. After several minutes of failing to retain anything from her notes, he gritted his teeth, threw the papers to the ground, crossed his arms, and began pacing.

“Vinnie?” Rose said as she fed Ratsputin parts of Vinnie’s abandoned breakfast. “Are you feeling well?”

Vinnie adjusted his shirt’s collar. “Si. I’m just….”

“Apprehensive?”

“That could describe it. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m ready to testify. I’m not backing down. I just-- it’s difficult to not be a little fearful. Ugh….Maledizione, I sound pathetic.”

“Not necessarily,” Rose said. “But waiting and doing nothing won’t help you. I know we’ve been playing it a lot, but what about another round of poker?”

Glad for a distraction, Vinnie obliged.

* * *

Clay Westwood walked his limping horse to a post, cursing Vinnie Costa under his breath.

That idiotic, wannabe cowboy didn’t know anything about horses if he’d thought Bullseye could’ve lept over the Galls’ fence. And now, Clay’s only horse was crippled.

Of course, though, Bullseye’s injury wasn't the only thing Costa was going to pay for.

Clay had been thinking about his talk with Marvin Ferrari for a number of hours. The mob was planning on building an extension of the railway with the land they were taking. A new part of the railway meant new jobs.

An expanded railway and more jobs would fantastically improve life in Coyote Gorge. Perhaps seizing people’s lands wasn’t entirely ethical, but if it was for a good cause, Clay could ignore the means the Italians were using to make Coyote Gorge great again.

What he couldn’t ignore, however, was the good-for-nothing maggot threatening to ruin everything the Italians were working for.

Before tomorrow, however, he wanted to remind Costa about what he’d done to Bullseye. Clay rummaged through his bag, pushing aside the items he’d need for tomorrow--tin cans, gunpowder, and his handkerchief-- and retrieved his “gift” for Costa.

Clay entered the saloon and asked the saloon owner to make a delivery.

* * *

Catastrophe Joan awoke on the day of the trial in good spirits. She planned on seeing the best of the situation, and, today, a no-good Italian would have his life either ended or ruined.

She would sit back and watch.

* * *

Franca Capecchi was growing both impatient and annoyed. Vinnie was still alive, and the trial was in only three hours. If whoever Vittorio had sent to kill Vinnie didn’t act soon, the entire police force would be running around Coyote Gorge, looking for Vittorio, and Vinnie would be far too surrounded by police to easily kill.

If nothing happened to him in the next couple hours, she would break into his room and give him what he deserved.

* * *

Al Salucci looked in amusement at the spiked horseshoe the cowboy had asked him to deliver to Vinnie’s room the previous night.

Al pushed the horseshoe under the food on Vinnie’s breakfast tray. After a moment of consideration, Al inscribed his own personal taunt to Vinnie on his checkbook.

It seemed like an appropriate thing to do.

Al had pretended to not notice the cowboy stealing the master key to the saloon’s room the prior night.

The cowboy’s threat, along with him stealing the key, indicated Costa wouldn’t be alive for much longer. Al slipped his message under the food next to the spiked horseshoe.

Al wasn’t a member of the mob. But would he stop someone sent by the mob from stealing his key to break into Costa’s room? No.

Besides, if the cowboy was caught, it would work to Al’s advantage to feign innocence and ignorance about the whole affair.

Vinnie was in a predicament, but Al would benefit nicely from the situation. He’d stolen Vinnie’s wallet the previous day, taken Vinnie’s money, thrown away pictures of who Al assumed were Costa’s mother and sister, and discarded the wallet. Vinnie had paid back what he’d owed Al, and now, Vinnie was free to pay his debt to the mob.

It was Costa’s own fault. When the mob told you what to do, you did it. And when you did it, you did so quickly, and treated members of the mob with respect. You certainly didn’t backstab them.

* * *

Elsewhere, Clay Westwood smashed an empty wine bottle against a rock and concealed the top half of the bottle in his poncho.

* * *

"Here's your breakfast, Costa," Al said, for the first time directly addressing Vinnie and handing him his tray. Vinnie could've sworn the man was smirking as he left the room.

Vinnie looked at the food, and set the tray on the floor. His stomach had been churning ever since he’d gotten up that morning. He wasn’t going to risk eating.

Rose approached him. “Nervous?”

Vinnie rubbed his arms; the room was far too cold. “I think so.”

“Well, just imagine this afternoon, everything will all be over,” Rose said. “Vittorio will--”

_ BOOM. _

An explosion outside rattled the window of the room. The floor trembled, and Vinnie staggered backwards into the room’s table.

“What was that?!” Vinnie shouted over the ringing in his ears.

“I don’t know,” Rose said, drawing a pistol. “Stay here. I’ll lock the door. Don’t move.” She sprinted out of the room.

Vinnie’s eyes darted around the room, his heartbeat racing. That explosion…. It could’ve been an accident. Or a diversion--

_ Shut up, shut up, shut up, she locked the door. _

He had to do something other than stand in the middle of the room, fidgeting with his hands. He should prepare for the trial. Act like everything was normal.

He looked at the bath, which he and Rose had filled with water a few minutes prior. He could start there.

He stripped and slid into the tub, keeping his boots on due to force of habit. Giovanni had enjoyed telling young Vinnie stories about the Wild East, many of which detailed the adventures of cowboys. As his father had once told Vinnie, cowboys must always have their boots on and be ready to bolt.

His hands were slick with soap and water, but still, Vinnie washed his hair. He was about to finish when the door unlocked.

“Rose?” he called, hastily pushing a cloth down into the bathtub to cover himself. His ears were still ringing, though not as loudly as before, but the ringing was preventing him from hearing any noises that could indicate who--

“No, I’m not Rose.”

A man stepped from behind the privacy divider. Vinnie twisted around to face the person. It was that-- that--

“What are you doing here?” Vinnie said. He was suddenly hypersensitive to everything around him, the water against his skin, the feeling of the rim of the bathtub under his hands.

“Why should I explain anything to you?” the man said, who Vinnie recognized as the cowboy whose horse he’d attempted to use to escape from the Galls’ farm.

With one of his hands hidden in the folds of his poncho, the man continued, “You crippled my horse and are planning on testifying against someone who will bring progress to Coyote Gorge.”

“Someone who’ll-- are you stupid?!” Vinnie said vehemently, remaining frozen in the bathtub despite an overpowering voice in his head screaming  _ run, run, run.  _ “Vitt--”

But Vinnie was unable to finish his sentence, because the cowboy removed his hand from inside his poncho, and, along with it, a jagged, broken wine bottle.

Seizing a fistful of Vinnie’s hair, the man shouted, “Vittorio would’ve put me back into employment! You won’t--”

Vinnie didn’t hear what he wouldn’t do, because the man wrenched Vinnie’s head backwards, slamming it onto the bathtub’s rim.

An enormous, painful throbbing exploded in Vinnie’s head, but he had only a moment to register the pain coursing through his head before the man dug the bottle into Vinnie’s neck and wrenched it through his skin.

Vinnie would’ve screamed because the feeling in his neck was like the throbbing in his head, but so  _ hot,  _ like he’d been struck in the throat with a branding iron. But because the bottle hadn’t severed anything major, before Vinnie could more than emit a strangled gasp, the bottle plunged into the center of Vinnie’s throat.

Vinnie screamed, or at least attempted to. Instead, he gagged and choked as blood bubbled at and spurted from his neck. Even so, the bottle ripped apart more of his skin.

The burning hit a peak. Vinnie tried to reach for his throat, but the cowboy grabbed his wrists and pressed them onto the bathtub’s rim. Blood slid down Vinnie’s neck, chest, and into the water.

“You deserve this, maggot,” the man spat. Vinnie could still hear him, but the room was growing clouded and faint.

“Good luck ruining Coyote Gorge now,” the man muttered, releasing Vinnie’s wrists.

He must have left the room, because Vinnie couldn’t hear him-- he couldn’t hear anything.

Vinnie's blood continued to spill out of his neck, but the burning was faint…. Fainter.

And then the burning, throbbing, and the feeling of Vinnie’s blood gurgling in his throat, sliding down his body, and everything else was gone and faded into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vinnie deserved better.  
> He was like, my third favorite character in the game. Rest in peace, my dude. You had a surprisingly well-written redemption arc.


End file.
